


Cry Out With a Thousand Tongues

by Neathra



Category: Bartimaeus - Jonathan Stroud
Genre: Gen, Historical, Historical Figures, Male-Female Friendship, Religious Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-11
Updated: 2019-11-11
Packaged: 2021-01-27 07:41:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21388537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neathra/pseuds/Neathra
Summary: “So you’re not scared of a demon?” Faquarl asked the woman with a smile that showed just a few too many teeth.“You’re not a real demon.” she replied with a shrug.
Comments: 8
Kudos: 4
Collections: Bartimaeus Fic Exchange 2019





	Cry Out With a Thousand Tongues

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lysandra](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lysandra/gifts).

> For Lysandra, I hope you enjoy. As it turns out, I will try to redeem pretty much anybody.  
All complaints about the religious content should be directed to Saint Catherine of Siena. Most of it is her fault. I have taken some liberties with the historical record (the real St Catherine couldn’t actually write and had to dictate her letters.) Similarly, while I tried to keep Catherine’s views consistent with the times, I failed and she ended up sounding an awful lot like the lady who teaches our Confirmation class.  
Sadly, there are no footnotes, because Faquarl is just not as fun as Bartimaeus.

Rome, Italy, 1300 something. Faquarl didn’t really keep count anymore. Time might have pulled him ever forward, but counting it, marking it, that was a human thing. Currently, he was sick of human things. How much longer was that fool going to wait to summon him back?

Well, he’d finished that last job hours ago. Instead of sitting around bored waiting for a summons that seemed never to come, Faquarl might as well go exploring.

A few floors down from his current location, Faquarl could see an open window and hear the scratching of a pen from within. Peering inside, he saw a young woman wearing a black and white habit. She was writing with an intensity that made Faquarl feel almost sorry for whoever would be on the receiving end of her letter.

For a moment, Faquarl almost moved on – to go bother a different human, but then he connected her strange outfit to an important religious sect that he had heard his master complaining about. Particularly about how this sect seemed to fear _demons_ above little else. _Hmm,_ he thought _maybe this would be fun_.

Faquarl picked a hideous form: it had teeth and claws, and heads all growing in the wrong places. He moved, gliding with too much grace for the chimeric like creature whose form he had assumed.

Unseen, he slipped through the woman’s window and crept in front of her. Then he revealed himself.

She didn’t scream. That was annoying. Oh, she started when she saw him - jumping half back out of her chair and making some strange hand sign over her head and breast. She gasped in surprise. But there was no satisfying scream of blood curdling terror that usually accompanied a human getting a glimpse of this particular form.

The woman simply stared at him with eyes like saucers for a minute. Then she took a few deep breaths, sat back down and continued her letter with renewed vigor.

“Why aren’t you screaming? Aren’t you scared of a demon?” Faquarl asked the woman with a smile that showed just a few too many teeth.

“You’re not a real demon.” she replied with a shrug – not bothering looking up.

Faquarl was stunned. “What do you mean I’m not a real demon? That fool who summoned me seems sure I’m a demon. That settles the matter.”

The woman still didn’t look up from her writing. “It does not. No human has the power to control a true demon. My name is Catherine. What should I call you?”

Faquarl ignored the question. Instead he asked, “But, am I really that different from a demon? I am not of this world, I do ‘evil’ things, and I am certainly not bound by the laws of nature.” He wasn’t about to just loose the title of demon. That idiot Bartimaeus might be insulted by it, but Faquarl put up with a lot on Earth, and he enjoyed having a title that the humans feared, even if it was a bit silly.

Seeing as the hideous form wasn’t doing anything to scare Catherine anyway, Faquarl assumed the form of a rich merchant and found himself a seat.

With a sigh, Catherine put down her pen and turned to him. “I know that you are not a demon, because you do not inspire any strange feelings. I was startled when I saw you, but I felt nothing unusual for the situation. “

“Maybe I don’t want you to feel anything unusual.”

“You also show no reaction to the fact that we’re on sacred ground or that you’ve been standing under a Crucifix this entire time.”

“Ahh...”

That was followed by several minutes of silence and Catherine’s pen scratching.

“Fine. I’m not really a demon. So what do you think am I?”

“From what I know? Your people seems to be very similar to humans on a fundamental level. I would go so far as to say that like us you are created in the image of God.”

“Oh! Do elaborate.”

Catherine ignored his sarcasm and plowed ahead, “It’s very clear if you understand human attributes that come from us being made in the image of God. You spirits have creative power, free will - “

At that point Catherine’s words were cut off, as the magician finally decided to summon him back.

A few days later, Faquarl once again found himself waiting on the idiot to get around to summoning him back and was wandering around Rome. Somehow, he found himself drawn back to Catherine’s window.

She was once again writing a blistering letter. This time, Faquarl announced his presence by leaning over her shoulder and reading what she had already written. “… I pity whoever this is addressed to.” He whispered in her ear.

Catherine acknowledged him without looking up, “Hello again spirit. How are you doing? Do you have a name you would like me to call you?”

Faquarl ignored the question, “I was just waiting for that fool of a magician to summon me back, and I remembered that the last time he interrupted your explanation of why I am fundamentally the same as a human – which I still say is ridiculous.”

Catherine put down her pen and turned in her chair to face him, “There may be obvious differences between you and I – the most obvious being your ability to shapeshift, but, on the most basic level we are similar: we both have free will –“

“Clearly, you have never been summoned by a magician.” Faquarl interrupted, “The whole point is I do NOT have free will.”

“It was your choice to come back and see me today. You choose how to carry out the orders that you’ve been given. And, from what I hear, you spirits quite good at rendering said orders meaningless.”

Unlike Bartimaeus, Faquarl could see when he was losing an argument. Unwilling to outright admit defeat, he changed the subject. “I may not be as familiar with your beliefs as you seem to be with my physiology, but I am aware that you believe that humans are inherently good, and that this Creator of yours is the source of all that is good. So, how could he have created something like me?”

“Are you claiming that you have no conscience? Not even a sliver of a wriggling, nagging wish to do what is right? No regrets or qualms about what the magician who summoned you occasionally orders you do to?”

Catherine took his silence as the confirmation that she was right. “I expect that we might disagree on any number points. But do not argue with me in bad faith. It is unbecoming for someone of your intelligence.”

“Well then, if that’s what it is like to be created good, why am I here at all? Why was I summoned just be that self-aggrandizing bastard’s tool? He doesn’t seem to have any twinges of conscience nor has any magician who has summoned me, and ordered me to do terrible things. They demean, torture and debase me.” Faquarl exploded, the anger pouring out of him in a rush.

This time, Catherine’s sigh was sad. “That’s because we are in a fallen world. Humanity went wrong near the beginning of the world, and it twisted everything. Like the world was turned upside down.”

“Then I’m trapped. All of us spirits are trapped. You humans are trapped too. Do you think that the magicians are going to let you and your fellow faithful keep preaching about how _all people are equal_?” His previous anger had deserted him. Faquarl found himself speaking with bitterness, and then felt a sudden wave of concern for Catherine. “In honest fact, it would probably be safer if you stopped pushing back at them.”

This time, it was Catherine’s turn to be angry. She stood up, slamming both hands down on her desk hard enough it made the ink well jump. “Well, I’ve had enough exhortations to be silent!” Her eyes flashed, becoming hard like steel. ”Cry out with a thousand tongues. The rot in our world is partially born from the silence. I say we should speak the truth in a million voices. It is silence that kills!”

Terrified Faquarl disappeared back out the window.

It took some time before Faquarl felt ready to visited Catherine again. When he finally went to speak with her, she was doing some religious ritual. Catherine was kneeling, and seemed to be counting a string of beads with her fingers.

As she did, she seemed to speak to the empty space beside her saying, “Glory be to the Father, and to You, and to the Holy Spirit…” On You (and the capital letter was very much implied), Catherine smiled at the empty space next to her, and seemed pleased as if the empty space smiled back.

Even scanning all the planes, Faquarl couldn’t detect anyone else in the room.

Well, that wasn’t exactly true – there was something strange on the 7th plane. Something like a heat shimmer. Maybe. Possibly. He could also be seeing things.

Finally he gave up squinting at Catherine and the – definitely- empty space next to her, and asked “Who are you talking to?”

Instead of answering, Catherine waved at him in the universal sign of _please wait._

For a few minutes, Faquarl stood by the window, then he sat on Catherine’s other side. As he sat and listened to Catherine voice, a strange feeling of peace washed over him, relieving much of the ache he felt when taking a physical. But, along with the peace came a wondrous fear and creeping embarrassment. It was as though all his worst impulses were on display for the world to see.

Eventually, Catherine finished chanting and turned her back to Faquarl. Some sort of understand seemed to pass between Catherine and the still empty space. She nodded and bowed her head.

The feeling of peace faded, and Catherine turned around to face him.

“Good evening Faquarl. How are you doing today?”

“How do you know-?”

“-your name? I’ll admit, I noticed that you wouldn’t tell me, so I ended up asking Him. I wanted to be able to refer to you as something other than ‘that spirit’. Do you have a subject you want to talk about today?”

“Who’s Him? And how does He know my name?” Faquarl asked a bit alarmed. Was Catherine consulting Magicians?

“Not a magician, if that’s what worries you” replied Catherine, “Just an all knowing and trusted friend.”

Normally, such a vague response would have caused even more suspicion in Faquarl’s jaded mind, but for some reason, he trusted Catherine, even if she seemed somewhat strange.

“Previously when we talked, you mentioned that the world was morally upside down. But, your religion seems to be all about hope. How do you reconcile those facts?”

Catherine steepled her fingers. Her face was mostly serious, but her eyes sparkled with the delight of sharing, “To some extent it is all of our job to fight for and restore the world.”

“Simply put, be who God created you to be and you will set the world on fire.”

“Can you possibly be a little more specific?”

“Well, there are the obvious behaviors: feeding the poor, clothing the naked, and visiting those imprisoned, that satisfy wants. And as you said last time, treating everyone with the inherent dignity that they possess as children of God. That’s how we fight to fix the problems in our world.”

“Well, as I said previously, the magicians are never going to let anyone try to improve this world without a lot of pain.”

“There is nothing great ever achieved without much enduring.”

“And,” Faquarl tried to sound sarcastic, but it was obvious to really anyone that he didn’t really mean the sarcasm. “What should I specifically do?”

Catherine’s smile was almost evil. If you didn’t know her. The following conversation took many hours.

That was the last time he ever saw her. A few days later, Faquarl learned from the gossip in Rome that she was dead.

Bits of their last conversation kept playing through his head. _Be who God meant you to be and you will set the world on fire_ \- That was something that Catherine had said to many people: in person, in her less vicious letters. When she had addressed Faquarl with the sentiment, Catherine had phrased it differently: “Be who God created you to be.” Not who the magicians fear you to be, or your anger distorts you to be.

But time passed, the world turned, the humans squabbled, and Faquarl’s confidence in what Catherine had said dimmed. If there was so much “good” (and he used the term in the loosest sense) that humans could do then why didn’t they?

If her God cared so much about his creation, why did he let Faquarl and the other spirits be mistreated so deeply?

And if the other humans didn’t care enough about what Catherine and her Church said: why should Faquarl?

Even as Faquarl grew more callous and cold, even as the world continued to ignore Catherine and the teachings of the religion she’d followed, both would crop up at unexpected times.

Irritatingly enough, one consistent place that Catherine’s philosophy would arise was in Bartimaeus. Without realizing it that blasted djinn was always expressing one idea or another that Catherine would have approved of, or even argued for if the situation had come up.

Bartimaeus certainly held no animosity toward the average human – and occasionally even went out of his way to protect them. Not that he would admit as much, but unlike most magicians Faquarl wasn’t stupid. 

**Epilogue**

The Staff in Bartimaeus’s, the Boy’s, Their hands flashed brilliant white.

_Dying should hurt more._ Was the first thought that crossed Faquarl’s mind. It was quickly followed by the realization that everything he was had not ceased to be in that flash of blinding light.

It was with painful slowness that Faquarl’s senses returned to him. First came a sense of feeling. The bitter ice cold of this place was the only thing he felt for some time.

Eventually, he realized that his sight had returned, but it was too dark to matter. Bitter Cold and Dark. But not silence. All around him, Faquarl could hear shouting, crying screaming – the tearing of fabric and the gnashing of teeth.

Cold – Loud- Anguish- Bitter- Dark - Alone. The feelings and sensations hit him over and over again, but what was worse was the aching hole that had opened in what he assumed was his gut.

Somehow it was worse than the hollow ache that had finalized his lost connection to the other place. It was like someone had hollowed him out, ripping apart his hopes and dreams. Everything good was excised and stolen with barely a memory to replace it.

No, that wasn’t quite true. Faquarl still had one memory. A memory steeped in so much hatred for the world, and buried beyond so much hatred for humanity, that it was warped almost beyond recognition.

Catherine, sitting at her desk. Her hand grabbed his squeezing tight. She was saying something, but he couldn’t quite hear it. Then –

_Remember, if you ever need guidance, ask me._

Suddenly there was something warm – too warm. And something bright – too bright. White light, somehow brighter than the Staff was blazing behind him. Shielding his eyes, Faquarl turned.

Catherine stood there. She was dressed in that black and white habit she had always worn – only now it seemed to glow from within. A circle of thorns sat on her head.

Catherine crossed her arms,

“It’s about time.” She said, but there was no anger in her voice. Only sadness.

“I’m sorry.” The words suddenly tumbled out of Faquarl’s mouth, “You died and instead of living up to what you said and trying to honor our friendship through my actions, I instead acted out of spite; intentionally doing things I knew would have hurt you. I was angry at the world, at how they treated me, at how they treated everyone who was not a magician.” His voice choked up as he spoke.

For the first time, tears – or something like them – clouded Faquarl’s eyes. He wiped them away, but cried harder. It was just like all those years ago, when he had let his anger pour out at Catherine. Only this time his words were grief tinged.

Yet, with every word – every gasping sob, the light hurt his eyes a little less, the heat in the air subsided to a comforting warmth, and the hole in his chest seemed to fill in.

And, as the light became more bearable, Faquarl was able to see that they were not standing in some featureless black nothing, but at the bottom of what seemed to be a great mountain. A heart-stoppingly narrow path wound its way up its sheer face.

Faquarl could just about see a glittering city, like a far star in the distance, sitting high on the top of the peak.

Catherine turned to him and held out her hand. “It’s not an easy path.”

“Then we better get started. If Bartimaeus gets there first I will never hear the end of it.”

**Author's Note:**

> The story about how this story came to be is fun. I got the prompt at work, and I work for the Religious Education Department of my local church. So, while cataloging who is not doing their mandatory Christian Service, I started planning to story.  
Originally, Faquarl’s friend was supposed to be just some nameless commoner that dies horribly because of magicians and colors Faquarl’s views on humanity forever. It was about that point that Saint Catherine inserted herself into the planning process and refused to leave. She’s done this to my family before – she spent a few months stalking my Mom around. Everywhere Mom turned – BOOM – Saint Catherine was there.  
More specifically, my thought process went like this:  
  
1\. You know, Catholics and magicians likely don’t get along. If I make Faquarl’s friend a martyr then I might finally get to use my Not a Real Demon conversation that I can’t figure out how to include in the evil water spirit story.  
  
2\. Well, since all martyrs are saints, maybe I could pick a well-known saint? It would fit with the historical name dropping in the series and I might be able to include some actual quotes. Saints have tons of awesome quotes (See story name for an example)  
  
3.Random Thought: _It sure would be funny if it was Saint Catherine of Sienna…_  
  
4\. Actually… She’s a good choice - she didn’t take anyone’s BS, had some awesome quotes, and was wicked smart. Heck, she asked God if she could stand at the gates of Hell to turn people away.  
  
5\. …I can’t believe I’m redeeming Faquarl…  
  
6\. Plus she was very spiritual – all sorts of visions. I can do something where she can see something that Faquarl can’t. Hmm...Isn’t there a story where she prays the Rosary with Jesus?  
  
**Wait a minute…Gosh Dangit Saint Catherine!**


End file.
